The Games We're Playing
by Amber Dawn
Summary: Isabela was frightened that this woman was going to drag her out to sea, a current too strong to swim against... DA2, Isabela/Femme!Hawke, implied sexytimes


**Title**: The Games We're Playing  
><strong>Author<strong>: Amber Dawn  
><strong>Fandom<strong>: Dragon Age 2  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Isabela/Femme!Hawke  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: BOOBIES EVERYWHERE. Implied graphic content. Lack of clothing. GIRLS.  
><strong>NOTES<strong>: This is a rough WIP, and the first thing I've written in a very long time. Definitely could use some critique on it. This is supposed to be largely from Isabela's POV.

_You call everybody Darlin'  
>And everybody calls you Darlin' too<br>You don't mean what you're sayin'  
>It's just a game you're playin'<br>But you'll find someone else can play the game as well as you..._  
>~You Call Everybody Darlin' - The Andrews Sisters<p>

============================================

There weren't very many times in her life (at least not ones she was willing to admit) that she could remember being left speechless. It just wasn't in her nature. If she didn't have a lighthearted quip at the ready, it was a bit of snark meant to tear into her victim.

But damned if she could speak when Hawke ran delicate fingers along her side, fingertips lightly calloused from years of training with a blade, carefully cropped nails scraping the sun-browned skin here and there, and Isabela could _feel_the Lady Hawke's smirk as she shivered, her mouth falling open in a quiet gasp when those deft fingers hit a particularly sweet spot.

It wasn't that Hawke was trying to engage her in foreplay. The Deed had long been done, Isabela's admittedly skimpy tunic covered by the finery Hawke insisted on wearing around her mansion. Her daggers lay scattered about (as usual, and you'd think she would learn by now...), and she frowned a little, thinking of the cleaning she was going to need to do when she left here.

That thought led to another slightly disturbing one - she was _still here_. The tides had come in, the waves had crashed, the ship was docked and both parties were spent and satisfied. By all that was right, she should have long since re-clothed herself and headed back to the Hanged Man to convince Varric - a sweetheart among sweethearts, really - that she needed to take a nice, hot bath in his suite. Instead, she lay here in this all-too-lavish bed, with this extraordinary woman curled against her backside. She could feel Hawke's eyes roaming her body as surely as her fingers did, drinking her in, as if afraid Isabela would bolt at any moment.

"Isabela."

That soft voice - far too soft for someone as deadly with a sword and shield as Hawke - penetrated her thoughts, dragging her back to the present. Hawke's fingers had stopped their meandering, and the pirate queen rolled over, forcing herself to relax, giving her leader a trademark, sly, half-smirk from beneath lowered lids. She caught a half a moment of unrestrained lust on the woman's face, and her breath hitched, the moment freezing in time.

But the moment passed, and Hawke reached up, smoothing dark strands of hair from Isabela's forehead, her hand lingering on the pirate's cheek, before moving to settle on her waist again.

"You think too much," the warrior said quietly, her voice low and tender, her eyes full of worry, searching Isabela's for...for what?

She sighed, and pulled herself from that grasp, that warmth that she just wanted to drown in, sitting up with all the grace and dignity she could muster.

"Hawke, you should know by now I hardly ever think," she quipped, the half-smirk coming easily to her lips now. Arms over her head, she stretched languidly, knowing Hawke would lose just a little composure over this, knowing she would watch the light of the fire dancing over the dark skin. She rose from the bed, carefully taking her time to stretch - teasing Hawke had become almost as fun as sleeping with her, and by now she could imagine the dark lust that clouded her face, taking away whatever serious conversation she had in mind. Isabella enjoyed sidetracking her like this.

She really enjoyed the way Hawke growled softly, her strong arms reaching out to grab Isabela about the waist, pulling her back down into that bed of heat and silk. She let out a half-hearted squeal of protest, as Hawke's teeth nipped at her neck, at her shoulder, gentle little teasing bites that made Isabela moan in response. Hawke's fingers were tight on her hips, and she felt the woman grind against her, the silk sheet separating them nearly driving Isabela blind with desire.

"I ask nothing of you that you do not wish to give," Hawke said, her breath hot against the pirate's neck, her voice dark and rich and so very possessive that Isabela couldn't help but moan. Hawke shifted her position, then, and Isabela found herself pinned beneath this woman, her short black hair messier than usual, her face flushed and full of desire.

"But I will not pretend that I do not wish you were mine," she continued, moving her weight to the hand next to Isabela's side, the other hand coming up to caress her cheek, her lips, her jawline. Hawke leaned down, her lips silencing whatever protest Isabela had thought up, and again the feeling of drowning came to her. Hawke's tongue was there, then, insistent and demanding. Isabela moaned, and drew her arms up around Hawke's neck, fingers tangling in her hair as she deepend the kiss, tongue dueling as surely as she and Hawke would spar later.

Isabela was frightened that this woman was going to drag her out to sea, a current too strong to swim against. But more importantly, she wasn't so sure she wanted to fight it.


End file.
